The Unstable One: A Murphy Thriller Book 1 (Markus Murphy)

by Mike McCrary

  Murphy lets Noah’s feelings run, but he’s there if he needs to step in.

  The balance is tricky.

  There are no easy answers here.

  Brubaker is here. He knows because Peyton sends him updates on her location. Besides that, he can feel it. Her presence hangs in the thick air. The hair on the back of his neck stands up straight. There’s a tingle in his fingertips. He sets the timer on his phone. Countdown begins until the tactical team will arrive.

  There are three agents with the girls now, in addition to the nanny that Thompson set up.

  If Murphy could kill Thompson again, he would.

  Only he’d make it hurt much, much more.

  He needs to get to Brubaker before that tactical team comes roaring in. Peyton’s only option will be to send in the snipers and assault-gear goons. They will have orders to terminate with extreme prejudice. It occurs to Murphy they might even have the same orders for him. He has to push his paranoia aside, as reasonable as it may be. Has to trust Peyton this time.

  Across the street, a warm, inviting light glows in the window.

  That’s the place.

  The secure site that holds his girls.

  Their girls.

  Murphy takes a deep breath. He steps out into the street, then steps back. Noah almost took over completely, almost ran to the window unchecked. Murphy pulled him back. Impulse control is typically a Murphy-only issue. Nice to see Nice Guy Noah struggles with the limits of the leash sometimes.

  He pulls his Glock.

  Green means go.

  The blinds are closed, but it’s like a burning welcome sign for Brubaker. The feds are hoping she will suffer from similar impulse control issues. Hoping this will be too much for her to hold herself back. They are begging her to come in. Lamb to the slaughter. Murphy snickers at the thought. If anyone considers Brubaker a lamb, they need more help than Murphy does.

  “Fancy meeting you here.”

  Brubaker steps out into the light.

  She seems happy to see Murphy.

  “Hello,” he says. “What’s new?”

  Brubaker smiles a smile so familiar it hurts.

  “Missed you at the house party,” Murphy says.

  “Yeah, had a thing.” She thumbs toward the secure site.

  Murphy nods, glancing at his phone. Checking the timer as it ticks closer and closer to the tactical team’s arrival.

  “How long do I have?” she asks.

  “Not long.”

  “Well, okay then.”

  Brubaker pulls her gun.

  He does the same.

  The Murphy math is simple. Brubaker’s only genuine chance is to kill him and then make a play for the girls. Part of him wants to help her. They can both go through that door, make quick work of the agents. Secure the nanny. Take the girls and go on the run. Maybe Brubaker has some money stashed—she probably does—and maybe they can get out of the country. They can start over. A clean slate.

  Why not?

  Why can’t they make it work?

  He thinks of what he saw at the house in Montauk. What happened at Central Park.

  Everything.

  Still, he has to try.

  Murphy lowers his gun. Brubaker keeps her aim dead on him.

  “We didn’t ask for this. I know.” Murphy and Noah talk as one. “They’ve done horrible, unforgivable things.”

  “You about done talking your bullshit?”

  “I know why you did what you did. You wanted to get us back.” Murphy locks on to her eyes. “Me, the girls. All this was to get our family back together again. Each piece you worked carefully. Every step got you a little closer.”

  “Stop—”

  “I get it. Part of me wants to thank you. I want to go back too, but…” He shakes his head, looking toward the light in the window across the street. “This isn’t the way.”

  “They did this. Them, not us.” Brubaker’s chin quivers ever so slightly. “Didn’t you see? On the plane, did you see it? The wreck? Did you see all of it?”

  Murphy nods.

  Kate has to be in there.

  There has to be a way to her. Kate can be brought out, he knows it. He can talk to her. Reason with her. This can’t be as impossible as it seems. They can help her. It will take time, sure, but Peyton can find a way to make this work.

  She can fix it.

  “It’s not pretty, this life we’ve been thrown into, not even close,” he says. “But we can find a way. The two of us. Together. We can still figure this out, like we always do.”

  “Yeah?” She nods, begging to believe. “You really think so?”

  “We can get it all back, everything they took from us. But we have to do it the right way.”

  She’s so happy she could burst. She shifts to the right.

  A shine of blood gleams as she moves under the streetlights.

  Blood’s sprayed across her neck and face. On her hands and shirt.

  Noah shuts down.

  She absorbs the look on his face.

  “At that house, I was going to skin the three of them alive.” Her lips quiver. “Did you see that too?”

  This is what she is now, what she will always be.

  “Kate?” escapes his lips.

  “Kate’s gone.” She shrugs as the tears fall. “Sorry.”

  “So am I.”

  Murphy’s timer goes off.

  Brubaker blasts two shots.

  The car window behind Murphy explodes as he dives right. Bouncing off the concrete, he flings one injector, then another, with everything he has.

  Both stick in Brubaker’s throat.

  She grabs her neck, coughing, wheezing. She fires another shot that zips up into the night.

  Lady Brubaker slumps down into a ball under the streetlights.

  Murphy exhales.

  Chapter 42

  Murphy stands alone in front of two graves in Arlington National Cemetery.

  One stone reads Noah J. Alderson.

  The other, Kate S. Alderson.

  This was Murphy’s first request. Well, technically, the second wish he wanted from his personal genie. Dr. Peyton owes him a deep debt. The first wish—to have the explosive removed from his skull—doesn’t count. That was granted without a formal request being made. Murphy told Dr. Peyton that Noah’s and Kate’s bodies were to be buried side by side at the national cemetery where all good soldiers from the nation's conflicts are buried.

  Peyton did not argue.

  He gave her Brubaker alive to poke and prod.

  To study and learn from. To unpack her mind.

  He was told the Mega Three were working alongside government leaders to try to calm the world. To tap the brakes on the financial fall. To slow down the spread of the riots. There are talks of stimulus, universal income, zero-interest loans, forgivable loans, and free, advanced training for workers who’ve been left behind. Changes to the laws and systems that hold people back. A change in thinking of people with money who were shaken to their core.

  Wishful thinking, Murphy knows.

  All sounds rosy as hell. The devil, as always, is in the details.

  The dinner party in Montauk will never be discussed.

  Never.

  In exchange for her silence, the maid, her family, and future generations of her family will not have to work ever again.

  Murphy couldn’t care less about any of that. He’s served his time.

  Punched his clock.

  The rest of the world can work out their own shit.

  He stares at Kate’s grave. A lump in his throat grows to the size of a fist. Noah and Kate’s life together rumbles through his wasteland mind. All the time spent, the good and bad shared, the memories all slam together at once. Blending into a rush of colors, sounds and emotion.

  A soul-jolting sucker punch landing unblocked.

  He thinks of what Lady Brubaker did with the precious pieces of Kate. Of what he saw in that house in Montauk. What she had turned into. He th
inks of what he's become, this blend of Noah and Murphy. Hates all that’s happened.

  Paralyzed by the reality this is really the best he can do. The best play with a bad hand dealt.

  He glances toward his own grave—odd doesn’t begin to cover it.

  The Murphy inside of them can't help feeling the same sense of loss that Noah is experiencing. In a way, Murphy hates Nice Guy Noah for what he’s done to him. For introducing him to this kind of thinking. To these kinds of thoughts. These memories. This shit brand of feeling. There’s no turning back now. Some things can’t be unlearned.

  Murphy pulls a bottle of bourbon from a paper bag.

  The good stuff.

  Cracking open the top, he takes a big swig. He plays back a favorite memory that still rattles inside of him. The one at the bar. The one between Noah and Kate. One that will never be taken from him. His lips move along with the words they said, ones he knows so well.

  He pours a long, proper pour onto her grave.

  Closing the cap, tears drop down his face. Real ones, not those red ones, thankfully.

  His heart shifts to the girls.

  “I was right. It's not perfect. Not even close.” Murphy closes his eyes, speaking to Kate. “But I did the best I could. Think you'd like them. I checked them out.”

  That was another thing Murphy told Peyton he needed.

  He had to have final approval on the family the girls went to.

  He didn't meet them, not formally at least.

  Didn’t want to.

  He poured over the files—five, maybe six times. He dug into the federal background checks, the deep-dive credit checks, detailed audits of their bank statements. Dumped their texts, DMs, and everything else the full power of the mighty United States Central Intelligence Agency could get their prying hands on.

  He also watched them—for days.

  Stood outside their house night after night.

  In the shadows, of course. He’s not a lunatic.

  He went inside their house while they were away. Looked in the fridge. Checked out the bathroom cabinets for medications that might have been missed. Opened drawers in the nightstands. Checked under beds. Dug around their garage. He followed each of them to their places of work. Watched them drink their coffee. Sat close by as they had lunch. Even watched some of their friends and family for a while.

  He did this for three different families.

  Until he found the family he deemed acceptable.

  The best family—the girls’ original one—was not an option.

  The fourth family passed his test. People he knew Kate and Noah would like to have as friends, and ones they would've both chosen to look after their children.

  If they’d been given a chance to make that choice.

  “They're good people. I think they’ll take good care of them.” Murphy’s voice shakes. “I tried to do right by you. Tried to do right by our girls. I think they’ll have a shot at the life we wanted for them.” Wipes his eyes, resets. “I know we would have given it to them, no question. This way, we know for sure.”

  He fights back a full-on breakdown.

  Murphy helps hold Noah together. I’ve got you, man.

  Looking up to the sky—gray with streaks of even darker gray mixed in—the wind blows gently across his face. The cool breeze soothes him. Shutting his eyes again, he takes another hit of bourbon, letting it burn, then looks back to Kate’s grave.

  “But what really tipped the scales in their favor…” Murphy releases a nervous laugh. “They’ve got one of those fancy-ass SUVs.”

  A meaningless wish Noah and Kate talked about all the time. A fancy-ass, driverless SUV that was out of reach for them financially. The weight of the statement is almost too much for Murphy to take.

  Yes, too much for Murphy.

  The two men have come to an understanding. An agreement. They’ve gotten to know one another over the last few days. They may not like everything, but this forced roommate situation, this sharing of one head, it’s not going away. None of this was requested or wanted—that’s for damn sure—but there is nothing they can do about it.

  Live together or get damn comfortable with dying.

  Simple as that.

  Murphy takes one last look at the two graves. He holds his eyes on the four letters that spell out his wife's name.

  Kate is gone, Brubaker said.

  He holds the moment for a few seconds—too long, perhaps—before turning and walking away. Doesn't know if he'll ever come back here. He'd like to think he will. But life has become unpredictable.

  Murphy makes it about three steps, stops, then looks back.

  “Oh yeah.” Snaps his fingers. “Killed that fucker who put us here. Shot him in the face.”

  Moving on to another thing he requested from Peyton…

  Murphy stands outside the gates of Edna Mahan Correctional Facility for Women in New Jersey.

  The bland-bricked prison looms beyond tall metal fencing and barbed wire. Guards move side to side, shifting their weight, watching over things from the towers above. Assault weapons at the ready, their eyes stare out over every inch of the prison yard. Murphy knows this is mostly for show, considering the security AI at these places has the vast majority of the prison’s area covered with next-gen scanners, cameras and sensors.

  If a cockroach so much as thinks of escape, they will know about it.

  Murphy waits, leaning against his new car.

  His candy apple red Porsche 911.

  Vintage, sweet as hell.

  Technically, he supposes this would count as the fourth wish he asked Peyton to grant. But in his mind, this car wraps up into the third. He’s going to just keep asking for shit until she says no. Not much reason to make things more complicated than they need to be. This life is damn confusing as it is.

  The gates crank and creak as the metal barrier rolls open.

  A large female guard holding a single, thin brown envelope escorts an older woman out through the gates. Older, but not necessarily old.

  She gave birth to Murphy when she was young—too young, perhaps—but don’t bring that up.

  Mother steps out from the gates, then stops in the middle of the street.

  Her eyes look over her son.

  Almost stabbing at him. More angered disbelief than joy.

  Murphy gives her a massive wave with an overenthusiastic smile. Almost begging to piss her off. She snatches the brown envelope from the thick-handed guard, moving like a cannonball toward Murphy. Stopping only when she stands directly in front of him. He stands a foot taller and has at least a hundred pounds on her, but she could give a shit.

  They say nothing.

  Neither one giving in.

  Murphy would like to think there's a grain or two of gratitude underneath all that tough-as-nails routine. His memories of the woman are coming back to him, slowly but surely.

  Some good. Some not so good.

  Some flat-out horrible.

  But she's all he really has in this world. And he knows he is the same for her.

  Murphy cocks his head, motioning for her to get her angry ass into the passenger side. Moving over to the driver's side, he slips down into the black leather. Feels like a glove from heaven. He cranks the engine, letting it roar. Loves it. Rather hear that baby purr than listen to his mother’s bullshit.

  “You're welcome,” Murphy finally says.

  “Eat dick,” Mother fires back.

  Murphy bites his tongue while slipping the Porsche into gear. The prison passes by as he gives the 911 a little gas until Mother’s former home is in their rearview. Murphy can see her relax as they slip away, her shoulders inching down as the prison exits from their sight line.

  “You’re such a sack of shit,” she says.

  “Now, Mother. I’ve changed since you last saw me.”

  “Have to change a lot to upgrade from sack of shit.”

  “Might shock you, Mother.”

  “Damn doubtful.”

>   “Got married, had two kids.”

  She tries to work the math on that. Doesn’t add up, and Murphy knows it.

  “It’s the truth.” Clucks his tongue. “Twin girls.”

  “Wasn’t in prison that long, dipshit. Stop your lying.”

  “Fine. I’m lying.”

  “Lying sack of shit now. Congrats on that.”

  “Yes, Mother.”

  “Where we headed in this ass bucket?”

  “Don’t know, Mother.”

  “Fucking figures.”

  She cracks a smile, pats him on the knee, then digs out a single cigarette and thin pack of matches from the brown envelope. A five-dollar bill slides out, emptying the contents of the envelope. She lights her smoke, cracks the window, lets the smoke roll out, then tosses the five-spot at Murphy.

  “There. Until we get back on our feet.”

  “Yes, Mother.”

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  Thank you so much,

  Mike

  Coming in early 2021. The second book in the Markus Murphy series. Order now!

  Also by Mike McCrary

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  Steady Trouble

  Steady Madness

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  Remo Went Down (Book 2)

  Remo Went Wild (Book 3)

  Remo Went Off (Book 4)